2011-09-10 - Needing Friends
Joan Blaze Though standing at 5'5" and appearing to be in her late teens, it takes but one look at this fiery girl to realize she embodies that very element, fire. Her intense red hair is cut short in a bob hairstyle over her left eye,leaving her green right eye in clear view, looking fiercely at the world as if challenging it, daring anyone to try and get in her way. Her lips are graced with red lipstick to match her vibrant hair, that along with a pale skin and a faint touch of blush makes for a unique visage. She is currently dressed in a ripped back black shirt, the shreds along the back go the entire length of the shirt, revealing a shifting glimpse of tattoo in the form of a fire engulfed phoenix, spreading it's wing in flight, set across her back with each wing tip ending at its respective shoulder. The front of the shirt bears a print that states, "why drink and drive when you can smoke and fly?" She is also wearing beige capri pants featuring cargo pockets on the sides, with twill tape dangling off the leg cuff opening, allowing for a cinch should she care for it. For shoes she is wearing red slip on sneakers, matching her hair color. Her jewelry consists of a pair of garnet earrings shaped like flames, and a silvery arm band in the shape of a dragon twirled along her right upper arm, the tail resting just above her elbow and the head resting just below the shoulder. Priscilla Kitaen This tall, exotically beautiful young woman stands nearly six feet tall, her curvaceous form toned and tightly athletic, moving with flowing grace and a prowling command of her environment. Her features are a stunning blend, with waist-length coal black hair tumbling over her shoulders and down her back, framing a face with hauntingly deep blue eyes above high cheekbones, a graceful nose, very full lips and a graceful neck, setting off perfectly the burnished caramel of her skin, final proof of her mixed heritage. Her sultry mezzo-soprano voice has a rolling, indeterminate accent which adds to the air of mystery about her. A flouncy, flirty purple micro-mini graces her hips, while a gold-trimmed purple halter encircles her neck and wraps around her chest with artful minimalism. A purple choker with a gold medallion graces her neck, while gold coins rest at her earlobes, decked with purple amethysts. Towering five-inch gold-trimmed purple stilettos complete the look. Begin Scene Callahan's Pub is no place for a teenager, aside from drinking age being set for 21, it's one of the roughest pubs in the city. A popular spot for drug addicts to get their fix, mercenaries to get some jobs, and for brawlers to partake in random fights for the sake of violence. That is precisely why Jo likes to come here, it's probably one of the easier places to get by with her fake ID, some contacts from the time she worked with Derek Foster still give her some tips on possible opportunities to make some money, and she can get drugs without any questions asked. Flashing her fake ID at the door, she's easily allowed in and proceeds directly to the bar to buy herself a glass of beer, her eyes averting towards that infamous booth by the rest room, checking if Tony is around so she could get a discount. Newly come to New York, Priss isn't inherently familiar with which spots are good or bad, and doesn't have any established watering holes aside from her place of work. But having finished another night at the Club, the lovely raven-haired young woman has gone in search of further entertainment. She'd heard mention of Callahan's from someone, and has managed to find it. Her ID is legit, making it no problem for her to get inside, though the guy at the door made sure to get a complimentary pawwing in before he let her pass. She could have done something about it, but to be blunt she dresses like this for the attention; it would be hyprocrisy to hammer the guy for giving her what she's clearly after. She doesn't look nearly so 'tough' and 'hardened' as the patrons here. Indeed, Priss looks soft and sensual, a ripe and luscious victim for whichever of the patrons has guts enough to be first to lay claim to her. At least, that's how it appears. Jo mutters a few curse words under her breaths when she finds Tony isn't in today, she'll have to get her stuff from Jason and that guy never gives discounts, not even when acting all flirty. Looks like Joan will have to get some more cash later in the evening, but for now she just drinks her beer, peering over at newcomer with a raised eyebrow. Looks like that lady either made a mistake, or is out for trouble, whichever one it is Jo shakes her head and keeps drinking. For the most part she's left alone, despite her young looks. Eventually she just decides to be curteous and mutters towards Priscilla, "you know, if you were looking for the Electric Blue or the Firewire, you're in the wrong place..." Since most of the patrons seem too busy sizing Priss up to approach or say anything just yet, Jo is the first and gets Priss' undivided attention. The tall raven-haired beauty strolls - no, struts - over to Jo's side, smiling down at the redhead. There's something in that smile of hers that says she likes the others' style. "Sorry. I don't actually know either of those joints. Someone at the club mentioned this place as a real happening joint late at night, so I thought I'd check it out." She extends a hand. "Priss. Nice to meet you." Then she glances at the bartender, who is almost too busy drooling to do his job. "If you have any Glenn Fiddach, I'll take a double, neat. If not, maybe you have Guiness on draft, given the name." Jo looks a bit suspiciously at Priss, the woman looks far too comfortable and sure of herself to be just a regular ol' lady. Most sensible normal people don't prolong their stay after catching a glimpse of the inside of Callahan's Pub. Noting a bit of approval in Priscilla's gaze, does leave Jo with a slightly more favorable impression of the woman. "Oh it's happening alright, never boring around here..." and as if to emphasize Jo's point one guy is sent sailing for the floor with a rather powerful fist, seemingly over a dispute from a game of cards. Unflinching, Jo points at the fallen guy, "see this fellow? Made the mistake of playing Max, it's best not to bother, Max doesn't like losing." Offering a surprisingly harsh handshake, almost as if she was constantly concerned with making a tough impression, the teen offers, "Jo, say, you look like you're doing pretty well for yourself there, Priss, would you mind letting me borrow a hundred bucks? I promise I'll pay you back laster, you'll find me here tomorrow night or I can come meet you somewhere else if you like." Priss does seem rather confident and self-assured, which does stand out given her appearance would seem to mark her a clear victim-in-waiting for this place. Even the streetwalkers here aren't so polished and soft-looking. Priss glances at the short fight and shrugs; it's not her place to get involved, honestly. "You need cash, Jo?" The dancer considers this for a bit. Given her own history, she decides maybe a bit of paying it forward - as recklessly naive as that is - might be in order. Karma can be a bitch. She reaches into the depths of her barely-contained cleavage and produces a not-insignificant wad of bills, peeling off three Grants and laying them on the bar in front of Jo, and a fourth which she lays on the bar to pay for the drink when it arrives. "I had a pretty good night at the club. So why not." Honestly, she doesn't expect that Jo will be here tomorrow, or that she'll ever pay her back. But when she was in need, someone reached out - a complete stranger with nothing to gain - and helped her. So she'll help this girl in turn. Joan's eyes almost pop out when Priss reaches to her cleavage and pulls out that kind of money, "you most certainly had a good night, so are you a stripper or something?" Jo asks as she reaches to grab the bills, stuffing them into the side pockets of her capris. "I'll be right back, gotta take care of something real quick," Jo mutters and slips off her stool, walking quite confidently towards the shady looking booth by the restroom. She slips next to one of the guys there, chatting with him a bit, and then plants a wad of bills she just got from Priss, before getting something in return and slipping it into her pockets. Once she comes back, all smiles, she chuckles, "I'd offer to pay for your drinks, but that would be kinda silly, you're a real cool gal, Priss, thank you for making my night." Priss chuckles huskily at Joan's strong reaction to the wad of bills - a wad that seems hardly touched despite the loss of four fifty-dollar bills. "I've taken a job dancing for a private club in the city. It apparently caters to a very high-priced clientelle. They tend to tip in Grants and Benjies, instead of Jacksons and Jeffersons. And they like me." They must like her /a lot/. Then again, what's not to like? "Sure, go ahead." she offers, and blithely seems to ignore whatever the redhead is up to as she heads off to make her drug deal and return to the bar. Priss is sipping her powerful single malt scotch from the over-tall shotglass and watching the mirror behind the bar; her telepathy was enough to stay aware of Jo and what she was up to without being caught staring. Priss may not fear the jerks in this place, but there's no need to make a visible nuissance of herself and have to deal with the consequences. "You're welcome, Jo." Just that. No lecture. "Well, isn't that just a nicer way of saying you're stripper? I mean, even if it's an exclusive place, it's still the same thing," Jo seems to have a very set opinion of how it is Priss makes her earning, likely a result of where she kept the money. "Wait, you're not talking about the Hellfire Club, are you? That place is so darned secretive...people are saying it's best to stay away and not try and get in their way. Whatever they do, those guys must be loaded if that's just their tips." Jo, unaware of Priss' telepathy, assumes she just managed to trick her into thinking she was doing something very legitimate, after all, she's accustomed to adults mostly lecturing no matter what she does. Priss really does seem cooler than the average sort. "How in the world did you get involved with that place? I guess you must be a really awesome dancer..." "Honestly? I've been a stripper, and I don't mind it. Hell, I enjoy it. But at this place, not so much. They don't have the permits for it, so there's no stripping." Not out in the lounge where anyone can see, anyway. What happens in the private rooms is, well, private. And as new as she is, Priss is anything but a stranger to the private rooms at the Club, or the liberties they allow. "Yep. That's the place. I'd never heard of it, until they contacted my agent a few weeks back and invited me here." She offers a saucy wink and a shimmy of her hips for Jo's entertainment. "I /am/ a pretty awesome dancer, thanks for noticing." Jo's low opinion of stripping doesn't seem to bother or faze Priss in the slightest. Chances are she's used to other women's reactions to it, and has long since stopped caring. "You honestly don't mind it?" Just as Priss was cool with Jo, she seems to be cool with her in turn, not looking at her from above or disparagingly for admitting to being a stripper, just asking questions curiously, "doesn't it bother you to have men oogling you while you strip for them on stage and all that? I mean, it sounds like it would be pretty objectifying and maybe even humiliating." Jo does laugh at the mention that Priss hasn't heard of the place before, "they're super famous all over New York, you constantly see in the tabloids who got a membership, how much they frequent the place, but nobody can ever get anything on what's going on inside...you think you could sneak me in sometimes? I doubt I could get a membership there, they only care for filthy rich people and super famous people, I'm just a nobody really." Priss just shakes her head. "Nope, doesn't bother me at all. Where else can I do something legal, with me in complete control, and make this kind of money without a college education and a heck of a lot more work? All I had after school was my looks. So I use 'em. That simple. And I live a good life. I'm no one's victim. And I've got nothing to be humiliated about. I like my body, and I don't care who sees." Yep, Priss is just one o those women who really doesn't care. "I'm not from New York. I've been all over, but only rarely spent much time in any one place. So I'd never heard of the club until they contactd my agent." She considers Jo carefully. "I'm not sure if I could sneak you in or not. Not sure you'd enjoy it if I could. The place can be an acquired taste." What does that mean? She's not explaining right now. "Huh...? Never thought about it like that, so it's basically a whole lot of money for very little work? I guess I can understand the appeal in that, heck, I never been a fan of a lot of work, ever." Jo seems to understand for the first time why there are strippers to begin with, it's not all about keeping up appearances. "An acquired taste? What does that suposed to me? I'm pretty tough, I doubt I can see anything there that'll scare me..." as if to prove her point, Jo orders the very same thing Priss is having. "It's not about scaring you, Jo." Priss assures. She hasn't been some uppity adult the whole time they've talked, so why the kid thinks she's being that way now? She couldn't guess, but she's not about to get defensive, either. She knows of what she speaks. "I'm just saying that ... listen. I never figured rich folks for being all that different from the rest of us. You know? But the crap they enjoy in that club, it's weird. A lot of it doesn't seem like it would be any fun to me. So, I don't know that it'd be any fun for you either. That's all I'm saying." That and the fact she's aware that some of those in and about the club have secrets. Dangerous secrts. She wouldn't want to encourage the kid into the middle of that. She'd feel guilty. Priss does her best never to feel guilty about anything. It ruins the contact high of life. "So, they're just being weird in there? Is that it? Feh, all that money in the world and they still give a fuck about what others think. See, I'm not rich, but I'm already way better than they are, I don't give a damn about saying what I want to say and doing what I want to do." Well, at least the young girl is confident. "I never had lessons, so I can't really dance, so either way it's not like I'd make money in a place like that. They wouldn't give me a second glance anyways." "Enh. Pretty much." Truth is, Priss is lying. She's playing it this way on purpose. But if it keeps Jo away from the Club, she'll consider it worth that, for the girl's own sake. And she's not about to mention that Jo's particular look is the sort that some of those creepy patrons would positively go gah-gah over. They'd enjoy the chance to 'break' her young spirit. Pirss isn't about to help that along. "They're not worth worrying about, Jo, if not for their money. I worry about their money because it is helping me live quite comfortably. That's all. The rest of my life and headspace I reserve for /me/. Not them." "That's what I thought," Jo seems rather satisfied with Priss concurring with her, pleased to know she's distinctly more awesome than whoever is involved with the special lot who gets to go into the Hellfire Club. "I dig you, Priss, that's the right attitude to have and the hell with everyone else," served the her drink, Jo takes a sip before spitting it out, having just found out that apparently Whiskey is something she can't yet handle. Priss rests a hand on Jo's shoulder. She was right to tell Jo the club isn't the place for her. Definitely. "I dig you, Jo. Sorry if you don't dig the drink, though. I'll take it, and buy you a new one, something you will like better." Noting no sign of mockery in her words, Jo smiles at Priss and nods, "thanks, I appreciate it. What is that stuff anyways? I can usual handle alcohol pretty good, I've been drinking beer for a long time..." despite her boasting, a look at Jo might suggested it's not very likely. "Maybe I'll get used to it if I have it a few more times, I wasn't expecting it to taste like that..." "Glen Fiddach. It's a very old, single malt whiskey from Scotland. It is very strong, and very sharp. No comparison at all to any beer you've ever tried." Priss answers. There's no mockery or contempt in her voice or in her words. Just truth. "It's good stuff, and I enjoy it. An old friend got me interested years ago, while I was overseas." Of course, Priss doesn't really seem to be old enough for 'years ago' either, but she and Jo are both acting wise beyond their years, and it seems unlikely either of them intends to call the other on it. "Well, no wonder, if it's very old it must spoil eventually, no?" Jo asks rather sincerely, belying her absolute lack of understanding anything alcohol. While Jo does give a bit of a look to the suggestion Priss has done something years ago overseas, she doesn't say anything, knowing very well she doesn't much look the part of years ago either. "So, what drink are you going to get me? Something I don't know?" Priss chuckles ruefully and shakes her head. "Not so, dear. Alcohol like this gets stronger and better with age. Glen Fiddach itself isn't actually sold unless it is at least fifty years old. The really good stuff is over a hundred." Things Priss has learned, not from books, but from exprience. Jo will learn them too. "Whatever you want, Jo. Another beer? Some mixed drink? You name it, I've got you covered." "It gets better? How does that work out?" Jo asks, not truly expecting to be given an answer. "I usually drink beer, but if you know something's that's good, I wouldn't mind trying something new, I just never know what to ask for besides beer." "It works out by making the alcohol an investment in the future." Priss offers. But no more lectures. Jo offers up a willingness to try anything, and Priss considers that for a bit before she summons over the bartender. "A Long Island Iced Tea for my friend, please." Her bar tab is well covered, so he doesn't even blink as he layers on the alcohols for Jo's flavored drink. This'll hit like two tons of bricks. But it tends to go down really smooth. Jo just nods at Priss' words, though it's evident from the look on her face sh hasn't actually followed along. "Ice Tea?" Jo looks dubiously at Priss, feeling a little patronized, "I thought some kind of alcoholic drink, y'know...I could have just had beer." "It's a name, dear, not a description. Trust me." Priss offers, as the drink is delivered. "Bottoms up. Enjoy." That said, Priss raises the captured double shot of whiskey, and slowly drinks it down while Jo samples the drink Priss has ordered for her. If the girl's metabolism isn't some kind of miracle, this will definitely knock her for a loop. "Oh, well, if that's the case it's cool, I guess," Jo still doesn't seem sure but does trust Priss, as her drink arrives she sips, she looks to enjoy the taste as she drinks it a bit faster than she probably should, "this isn't bad at all, I think I like it. Thanks Priss." Her expression, however, pretty soon starts to show it is most definitely affecting her. Smiling somewhat inanely, Jo suddenly asks, "Priss, you're so kind and everything, can we be friends? I'm really so freakin' lonely most of the time and it sucks not to have friends..." "See? Told you." Priss offers, with a smile. She finishes her pilfered second double-shot of whiskey, and her skin tone starts to flush a bit. Even with her advantages, she is not unaffected by that much strong alcohol. She's just not falling all over herself, which most women would be with their lower mass to distribute the powerful toxins. She smiles down at Jo and slides an arm around the tough-gal teen. "Sure, Jo. We can be friends. I'd like that." Hey, why not? Friends make life worth living. And right now, Priss doesn't have any friends. She lost them. "Being lonely sucks, Jo. I get it." Jo reacts to the arm slipping around her by turning to fully embrace Priss, going as fear as to lean her head against her shoulder, "thank you so much! It means a lot to have a real friend, are you ever lonely Priss? I don't really know anyone in this city, I mean, not like friends friends know, you get me, right?" She gets just a slight bit of rambling, as her tough exterior melts with the affects of her drink. Priss notices how much Jo's tough exterior melts away with the alcohol's effects, and she is careful to be there, ready to protect Jo when she's not closed off enough to protect herself. Getting Jo hammered on the mixed drink was her idea, after all. "Sure, I get lonely, Jo. I don't really have any friends here in New York, either. Haven't had any friends for a while. So it's nice to make a new friend." Of course, Callahan's being the way it is, it's unlikely anyone is going to take issue with what would appear to be Priss getting the redheaded teen drunk and seducing her. That is, unless they get jealous. So far, though, no one is making any moves. That's a good thing. Jo looks up at Priss with a smile, "your hair is soft, and I like your skirt and earring," the girl commens out of the blue, a complete aside from the conversation they were having, and then she switches the topic once again, "do you have a home around here? I always find me spots in abandoned places, subway and places like that...not very comfortable. Is it okay if I could stay with you maybe one time? Like..." she stops to think a moment and then laughs, "I meant tonight." Priss indulges herself in a moment of good humor and light laughter as Jo compliments her hair and her outfit. "Thank you, Jo." She'll bring up, later, that a good shower and some decent hair products could do wonders for the redhead's lovely locks. "I have an apartment, sure. And if you want to come stay with me tonight, you're welcome to." Some might warn Priss, tell her she's moving too fast or risking her new home letting in a runaway who probably has sticky fingers. But Priss always follows her instincts. And this way they lead. Jo laughs and hugs Priss again, looking quite jovial at the prospect of actually sleeping somewhere decent for a change, "that's very kind of you, Priss, I won't forget it, I promise. Anyone ever gets in your way, you tell me, and they'll be toast...I swear," she then proceeds to get up and nearly loses her balance on her first step, causing her to lean heavily into Priss. "Are you going home now, or later? I could probably use some rest or something. I mean, drinks don't effect me or anything, I can handle alcohol, I just feel a bit...kinda, hmmm...tired. Ok?" Priss is ready to catch and hold Jo as she tries to get up, clearly prepared for the girl's lack of balance and coordination. Nevermind that it looks to the whole bar like her nefariously planned seduction is paying off in spades. "Thank you, Jo. But for now, why don't we head back to my place? You can get some rest, a nice shower, a good meal or two. And you don't have to be lonely. The rest can wait, right?" The tall raven-haired beauty keeps her arms around Jo as she shifts positions, then moves to only one arm and lets Jo rest against her side as they can make their way towards the door. As long as no one decides to interfere, everything will be fine. Right? "That's exactly what I was thinking to do," Jo blurbs a bit incoherently, still looking quite amused as Priss helps her not fall flat on her face. Any other place and people might be approaching to make sure Jo is alright, at Callahan's however, people are just minding their own business. "I'd like that very much Priss, shower would be freakin' awesome, and not being alone is even better." With Priss' support, Jo is able to more or less walk her way out of the place, "I wasn't kidding though about burning anyone who gets in your face, because you're my best friend right now, okay, Priss?" Category:Logs